The Dragon, the Lion, and the Wolf
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The Wolf had come to the Dragon at the dead of night. The Dragon had let the Wolf in, and sword had plunged through shield. Come the morn, the Wolf saw the Lion. The Lion spoke to the Wolf. And the Wolf was left in silence.


**The Dragon, the Wolf, and the Lion**

The sun was rising. The boat was rocking. And for the second time in his life, Jon Snow, King of the North and former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, found himself waking up next to a named woman.

The first time he'd done that he hadn't possessed either of these titles, but the first time was so far from his mind that it was naught but dust in the wind. In this moment of waking, after dreams, after waking to the world of the living and the nightmare that came from the North, he was entirely in the moment. The moment in which he put hand to his head and became aware of his own nakedness. Where, to the right of him, was the sleeping form of Daenerys Targaryen, still sleeping in the early dawn's life. Her body motionless, her soft breathing the only sign of life. Golden hair falling down over her pale skin, and sheets covering the front of her body. Where, to the left of him, was the floor – the passage off the boat that the bed itself had become, where it had rocked in tandem with their bodies the night before. And on top of him, before him, around him, the sheets, all marked by the act of consummation. The bedding ceremony, if it could be called such a thing, had been carried out. The Mother had been honoured, in those hours where, however briefly, the Stranger had been kept at bay.

Lying there, as the morning sun fell over the world approaching winter, Jon Snow felt…something. Or nothing. Anything? Enough perhaps, to get out of the bed and clothe himself, lest his manhood be displayed to the world. Or so little, that it was only when his body was fully clothed that he gave her a second glance. Still naked. Still sleeping. He was in the presence of the most powerful woman in the world. The Mother of Dragons. The one who claimed the Seven Kingdoms, and the one to whom he'd bent the knee, as his ancestor had to hers centuries ago. In this moment, life and death were in his hands. If he took up blade right now, he could end the line of Aegon the Conqueror forevermore.

He did no such thing. But when he leant over and kissed her on the cheek, he wasn't sure if he did that because he wanted to, or if it was what might be expected of him.

_Expected by whom?_

He had no reason to believe that the New Gods really existed. The Old Gods, if they existed, had no face in the wood around him to see a former faithful. And whatever gods the people of Essos followed, of the Dothraki and Unsullied, he doubted they would answer his prayers any more than the god of the red priestess. In the end, all he could count on was mortals. And mortals, he was so reminded, did erratic things sometimes. Such as coming to the chambers of the queen, offering his body, offering himself, before plunging the sword through the shield.

He exited the cabin and headed for the galley. He was hungry. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign. Maybe a month from now, if the appetite of Daenerys Targaryen increased, then-

_No._

It wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. Gods, fate, providence, none of that would be so cruel. But…if it did happen…well, things might get complicated…more than now, but…

He quickened his pace as he headed for the galley. He knew he'd done that which he had sworn never to do, to not bring a bastard into the world in the way Eddard Stark had. The way thousands of men and women did, be it through lust, love, or through means and desires not fit to be spoken. He, at least, had not fallen as far as the lowest of the low, but nonetheless, the deed was done. The action consummated. He'd done, in the course of a single night, what he'd never done after a month with Ygritte. The woman whose face flashed before his eyes as he opened the door to the galley.

_You know nothing Jon Snow._

He knew some things. He knew that even if this didn't end with a bastard being brought into the world, then things had just become very complicated. And he only had to wait until the Mother of Dragons awoke from her slumber to find out exactly _how _complicated.

"Hello Jon."

His heart skipped a beat.

"Sleep well?"

Tyrion Lannister was sitting there. Before him was a plate, and on it, an apple. One which he started using a knife to carve up into pieces.

"Fine, thank you," Jon said.

"So I see." Tyrion didn't smile. "Obviously, as one who is as well rested as yourself, and up as early as a bird looking for worms, must have undoubtedly slept well."

Jon nodded and looked around. "Is the-"

"Our ship's cook has yet to grace the world with his presence," Tyrion said, still cutting up the apple. "Of course, I use the words 'cook' and 'grace' as broadly as possible. Still, there's apples down below. I of course had to use a crate to climb up and pick one of these things, but then…" He trailed off and took a bite of one of the slices he'd cut. "Well, some may say that the greater the effort, the greater the reward."

Jon forced a smile.

"What say you Snow? Do you think the more effort one puts into a task, the greater the sense of triumph when they succeed?"

"I…don't know."

"Don't know? You, who have risen from the bastard son of Ned Stark to become King of the North, don't know the answer?"

Jon shrugged. "Lately, it feels that a lot of what I've done has come from necessity rather than desire."

"Indeed." Tyrion went back to cutting the apple. "Well, don't sell yourself short Lord Snow. I can imagine you know something about desire."

Jon frowned – Tyrion seemed different today. Almost like when they'd first met at Winterfell, where his tongue was as sharp as his brother's sword, and he was just as eager to use it. When they'd reunited at Storm's End, Tyrion had changed – the sword was sheathed, and the shield was lowered. Now, not only was his sword out, but he had a knife as well.

"Think I'll head below," Jon murmured. "Might have one of those apples." He headed for the door, grabbing the handle.

"Tell me – when you bedded Daenerys Targaryen, was it through desire or necessity that you conducted such an action?"

His hand was on the handle. The handle remained unturned. All that turned was Jon's head to the dwarf behind him. Still cutting up the apple.

"Well?" Tyrion asked. He cut the last slice and rested the knife on the plate. "A simple question Lord Snow. Or…I'm sorry, should that be King Jon? You are King in the North after all."

"What…" Jon took a breath. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh please don't lie," Tyrion said. "It insults my intelligence, and it insults your integrity. Your father, may the Stranger guide him, would hardly approve."

"Don't your dare-"

"Be outraged at me if you must King Jon, I only ask but a simple question." Tyrion took a bite of apple. "Necessity, or desire?"

"I…" Jon trailed off. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. Tyrion knew the truth. More importantly, he knew that the bastard son of Ned Stark knew. "How…how did you-"

"Only something as innocent as spying you enter the queen's cabin last night, coupled with no small amount of intuition," Tyrion said. He met Jon's gaze. "Your tryst was not as trystful as you supposed."

"Trystful isn't a word."

"Indeed? Well, I'll have to check that. But still, my question. I only ask for a simple answer."

"What…" Jon took a step forward. "What goes on between me and Daenerys Targaryen is none of your concern."

"Actually, as the Hand of the queen, it's entirely my concern."

"I-"

"Oh by the gods," Tyrion moaned. "Shall I make this simple for you Jon Snow? Fine. When you fucked the queen – and yes, you did fuck her, let's not deny it – was this done with any thought as to what this might mean for the future of this continent?"

Jon said nothing. He just took a seat opposite the dwarf and rested his hands together. Sitting in silence.

"Obviously that's a no then." Tyrion sighed and pushed the plate over to Jon. "Eat something Snow. You must be starving."

"I'm not hungry."

"Another lie – that's two so far."

Jon, after a pause, took a slice of apple. It was sweet. Kind of like…when their lips had met…before his own found other areas of her body…

"You know, I can actually see this benefitting us," Tyrion said.

"Us?"

"Yes, us. As in, the living that will have to keep on living after we've defeated your dead men."

"I don't follow."

"Do you not? Well, let me explain," Tyrion said. "I assume that you did not rape the future queen of Westeros, so unless she's changed her mind over the last six hours, I assume she has at least some measure of affection for you."

_Some, _Jon reflected, not sure why the word bothered him so.

"So, if that affection continues, and we defeat the living dead, then perhaps a union between you two could seal the future of Westeros."

"A union," Jon blurted out.

"Yes, King Jon, a union. She has the Iron Throne, you have Winterfell. North and South, Stark and Targaryen, peace and prosperity for the Seven Kingdoms."

"I-"

"There will of course be the need to pump out beautiful Stark/Targaryen babies, ideally male, but we can get to that. Why, for all I know, you've got on that already."

Jon didn't say anything. He just sat there. Thinking.

On one hand, what Tyrion said made sense. He'd pledged the knee to Queen Daenerys. Marriage had sealed alliances throughout the history of Westeros. Much enmity existed between their houses, but marriage, in the eyes of the Old Gods and the New, might help bring peace to the realm. And indeed, while marriage for alliance was common, love did not always follow. And, he did love her…didn't he?

"Here's to you then," Tyrion said. He leant down, opened a small box, and pulled out a bottle of wine with a single glass. He began pouring it. "To the King in the North, and the future of the realm."

As the dwarf began drinking the wine Jon couldn't tell if Tyrion meant it. He suspected on some level that the dwarf did. But he also suspected that the dwarf knew that not all was right in the world.

"Tyrion…" he said.

"Hmm" Tyrion put the glass down on the table – half empty or half full, he couldn't say.

"What if…what if I don't…"

"Love her?"

Jon said nothing.

"Well of course you love her. You wouldn't have fucked her otherwise."

Jon glared at him. "The hell you think-"

"A jest," Tyrion said. He took a much smaller sip of wine. "Though I'd have thought that a man of your calibre wouldn't take a woman's flower unless he intended to let it grow in a shared garden."

Jon blinked. The words. It sounded like Tyrion actually meant it.

"I must admit Jon, that if you seek advice in the ways of love, I'm the wrong man to talk to," Tyrion said. He finished off the rest of the wine in a single gulp. "Over the course of my life, I've discovered two things about women. One, is that no matter how ugly you are or how small your cock, they'll be willing to stomach such indignities if you put enough silver in their hands."

"And the other?" Jon murmured.

"That there's always one woman in the world who'll love you for who you truly are."

"Only one," Jon said, thinking of a woman no longer in the world.

"The other…" Tyrion sighed. He looked aside, and when he spoke, it was as if he was talking to himself. Of all the women in the world, I thought I'd found true love with two, when in truth, it was but one. And for my sins, she ended up with more silver than she knew what to do with." He looked at the wine, shaking the cup, watching the red liquid go to and fro. "The gods aren't just, King Jon. If they were, we could all have fathers like yours. And the woman I loved would end up with far less silver."

"Less silver is a good thing?" Jon asked.

Tyrion looked back at him. "For what the silver cost her? Yes."

He took a sip of the wine, and the two were left in silence for half a minute. Long enough for Jon to reflect on what Tyrion had, and hadn't said. Of all the things he clearly wanted to say. Of the rocking of the boat, and the passing of the world.

"What do I do now?" Jon said.

Tyrion snorted. "I just told you I wasn't the man to ask on matters of love."

"But-"

"Matters of statecraft, I can provide you with all the wit and wisdom of Tyrion Lannister. Why, if the living prevail, I might record it all down so that a thousand years from now, the maesters may be revering my work as much as the faithful regard the _Seven Pointed Star_. But alas, in manners of love, I can say that the queen is not without former lovers."

"What?"

"Has she not told you?" Tyrion asked. "Well, no matter. In the bedding ceremony, by my own experience, conversation is not expected."

"Sansa told me you were drunk."

"And your half-sister speaks the truth. As do I. Drunkedness does not always lead to a lack of chastity."

Jon said nothing.

"But I can always refer you to my first question, before you denied its validity – was it through desire or necessity you carried out such an action?"

"Desire," Jon blurted out.

"And when you offered the queen your sword, was that desire through love, or lust?"

Jon didn't answer. He couldn't answer. In part because he didn't know the answer. In part, because in that moment, he was somewhere else.

A cave. Warm. A lifetime ago. A world away.

"If it helps," Tyrion said, "I suspect that Queen Daenerys is pondering these questions as we speak, or she will soon if she has yet to awake. I suspect that venturing beyond the Wall and bringing back the walking dead makes for a good story, but her last love climbed the Great Pyramid of Meereen to woo her."

"You keep mentioning this other love," Jon said.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

"I do. But it's not my place to say."

"But it is your place to interrogate me?"

_I do know some things._

"Interrogate?" Tyrion smirked, though Jon could see it was forced, that there wasn't as much humour in it as he'd like. "Why, this is but a conversation as we break our fast. Nothing more. Speaking of which…" He leant over and took more apple. "Hmm. Apple's sweet, wine's bitter. An interesting combination."

_I know I love you._

"Whatever the case, we've got a week before we make port at White Harbour," Tyrion said, his voice making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. "I suggest that both of you find out the truth before then."

"Will you be telling Queen Daenerys the same thing?"

"Of course not. I'll just get her to tell me, and make her think it was her idea to do so."

Looking at Tyrion, Jon didn't put it past him.

"Lord Hand," he said.

"Your Grace."

Jon nodded, then headed out the door. Not for the cabin of the queen, but the upper deck. He needed air, no matter how cold and bitter it might be. He needed to think.

_We should have stayed in that cave._

He needed to forget.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, I read a _Game of Thrones _article recently that mentioned that of all the lovemaking scenes in the series, there was one where the emotional investment between the actors was real, as in, not just between the characters. You probably wouldn't have to read this to guess which one. But either way, got me to drabble this up. I know this isn't the first time I've touched on the whole Ygritte-Jon-Daenerys "thing," but, well, only so much time before Season 8 comes. And let's be honest, is anyone expecting the pairing to have a happy ending?_


End file.
